Hi How Are You

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The best light that the room has to offer is none but his own; the flashlight hooked into his jacket isn't consistent, because he's constantly moving, and barely gets a glimpse of the other man in the dark, but that's fine. His eyes have adjusted enough that he can watch his expression, and that's enough.

To be honest, the entire matter feels ... fuzzy. Still dark, gray, like a dream, but everything feels and tastes real enough that he can't be bothered with petty details. James just knows enough, the brief exchange they've had.

my name is harry mason, just here on vacation, have you seen a little girl

i'm james, have you seen my (dead) wife, her name is mary

How it's become this, they can't question it, or rather don't wish to; he can see the confusion in Harry's eyes, and though he might try to gasp words to form some kind of inquiry, it never forms completely and it's shut off by shivers and moans that unsettle James.

He watches him; arms bound up by dirty bandages, knotted into pipework sticking out of the broken wall. Somewhere on the floor is Harry's jacket and shirt, but he can't really remember where it's gone. He touches him with rough fingertips and Harry breathes his name, still the confused voice, someone who doesn't know exactly what he wants or that he should want this or anything else. But there's no objection, and that's enough for James.

He's never been this rough with someone before, but he can see that Harry doesn't really mind; James scrapes his teeth down the other man's throat and shoulder, knowing it might be hurting him, but nothing's worse than what this place can do to you. The other man just quivers under him, yelps when he's pinched in the right spots, starting to squirm under James.

This is getting to be a bit much, and he isn't entirely sure what he's doing.

James leans his head back, breathing. He stares at Harry, Harry stares back, brown eyes still clouded and baffled as before -- he's allowing so damned much from James and they only met, what, fifteen minutes ago?

He's never met someone with the patience of a saint (besides Mary before she) before. It's overwhelming.

He presses his boot against Harry's bare chest, making the other man breathe in suddenly at the faint pressure. The older man looks so damned pale in comparison to it; he presses a little more, moving his leg down and feeling him tremble more. Anticipation or more confusion, the reaction is still enlightening.

"Ahh--" The noise stops short, probably because Harry doesn't have much air left in his lungs. James is pressing the heel of his foot lightly against the other man's crotch, feeling his hips jerk out of his control.

That was. Hn.

James gets onto his knees to lean forward, biting for a kiss, relentless with a tongue; Harry isn't completely submissive to the action, but he's shuddering under him anyway as he reacts back. There's hidden strength, and not because Harry is the deceptive type (James thinks, anyway, not that he really knows this guy) but because he can be strong, just the gentle kind of guy is all.

In the moment, he's unbuttoning the other man's jeans; this is getting to be really unfamiliar, and he isn't quite sure what he's doing, but he's doing it anyway. James folds down the other man's slacks a bit, staring at him as he tugs down the briefs.

Somehow, he didn't expect Harry to be as hard as he is right now.

James pulls back from the kiss and the other man is panting and shaking, face almost red enough to illuminate the room, clearly embarrassed at the exposure -- but never an ounce of complaint.

James stands, Harry can't move the way he's tied up and forced on his knees.

Just fine this way.

He presses his hands against the rotting wall for support, pressing the bottom of his boot up against Harry's cock.

"Nngh!" Harry jerks, wincing; James can't tell if it's painful, but if it is, Harry isn't saying anything.

So he continues, leaning his weight in a bit, grinding his foot against Harry. It makes him cry out and try to move back, but James manages to be more assertive at the moment.

"James," he groans, writhing, not entirely helpless in spite of his position. Bound as Harry is, he could do something to stop James, but he just doesn't.

He just accepts it, and that's sort of admirable.

Still, James presses down harder. It makes Harry cry out and turn his head away sharply, burying his face against an arm.

"Too much?" It's the first time he's said anything in awhile, but James feels sort of generous enough to ask.

Harry flinches at the boot and can't find words immediately; it isn't until James lightens up on the pressure that he finally speaks. "Y-yeah. Sorry," he stammers.

James can't refrain from grinding his heel against him for a final time -- Harry moans and squirms -- before crouching back down, biting his neck, lightly chewing on skin. Rough enough to bruise, but nothing overly violent.

Penetration doesn't really settle as an idea; it's too much effort at the moment, and he can't be bothered with precautions, so he hesitantly takes a different route, not exactly something he's ever done before (not that he's ever done anything like this with another man anyway). He finds enough sense to push down his own jeans enough to grab himself; he groans a little before pressing against Harry.

That's all it is. Grinding against him, cocks brushing against each other and making both of them shiver. Harry thrusts back at him, showing that strength he's been holding back on (James is sure he should feel shame in being excited), and they move, as if desperate, and maybe they are.

There's hot breath against each other's necks, noses bumping and words whispered that don't mean anything; they just move like animals until there's the end, when one shudders and then the other, and it's over.

A siren sounds, and before James blacks out, he's certain he's disappointed that this is over with so suddenly.